More than space

Do you remember the day you and Christian wore identical shirts to work? He walked into your classroom and commented on how nice your shirt was, trying to be smart. You owned him, big time, by replying, "Thanks mate. Your wife bought it for me."

And so began the long-running joke in your little staff room about the swapping of wives between the two of you. At that time, I didn't know Anna, only you and your witty, blokey jokes, shared when I visited Christian at school with baby Jack.

When we discovered that Anna and I were both pregnant, and had most likely conceived on the same weekend, the jokes got worse. And funnier. If that's possible. It must have been awful for you two. Two poor buggers, with cranky pregnant wives at home with toddler sons (Can you hear my sympathy? Can you?) Lots to empathise with each other about. Lots to laugh about.

Christian used to come home every day with stories of you. I used to be so envious of him, teaching with such a great group of people. But there'd always be tales of funny things you'd done, or said. Like the time you showed one of your classes a video of Macbeth, without checking it first. Your "mate" howled with laughter, telling me about the terribly pornographic scenes involving the witches and Macbeth on the screen in front of your students, and how you were desperately trying to shut it off. I was bathing the kids at the time. I remember it clearly. I always will.

Do you remember when Anna and I met? I do. You were having a party at the house you had built, all by yourself, high on a bushland hill. You were horrified to hear that I had climbed the un-sealed driveway, in the dark, 8 months pregnant with Phoebe. Trust me when I say it was worth it. Your wife...oh my. Such a beautiful, amazing woman. She has an inner spark that makes people want to be near her. But I don't need to tell you this - you've always known it. That night, when I met Anna, and we compared baby bumps and dreamed of the little people growing within...I loved her immediately.

Phoebe and Harper were born within three weeks of each other, and have idolised each other since. Remember that stinking hot night we all met for a picnic dinner at Lysterfield Lake? Jack was two, Aiden would have been three? Three and a half? And the two girls were babies in their prams, Anna and I busy spooning first solids into their chubby mouths. They were so cute together. We have some gorgeous photos of Aiden leaning over Phoebe's pram - what a beautiful, brown-eyed boy he is.

I remember Jack and Aiden running through the water of the lake until it was dark. They were soaked and shivering, being well and truly eaten by the mozzies, yet neither wanted to leave. Jack still talks about that evening. As do we.

I remember countless nights sitting out the back of your place, on the deck. Pizza oven churning out delicacies for dinner, nibblies on the table. Dogs and kids running amok. The trampoline, the swinging chair. The ploys our children would conjure to stay just a little while longer. I cannot remember one single time that I have left your place without feeling energised and completely content.

Our kids remember the week we spent, housesitting your place while you went camping. How they ran around your sprawling property, how they ran away from the chooks. How the roosters attacked Daddy (and how Daddy unleashed his inner-ninja on them in retaliation) How Mummy hung washing on the line between the trees, all the way up the hill. How the baby chicks hatched under the lamp on the dining room table. How exciting that whole week was, and how they wished they could live there with you forever.

And you gave us a tiny (or not-so-tiny!) piece of your family when you gave us Archie. My beloved border collie baby is a sweet, bouncy, affectionate dog, and a daily reminder that our families are connected. Every time I look at Archibald, I think of you. Which is not to say that you remind me of a dog...but rather, that I loves my Archie with all of my heart. As I do you.

Now, I know you hate maudlin. And I know you hate schmaltz. Such an intelligent, clever, (two very different things, I know!), funny, kind, compassionate, skilled, strong man as you, would hate the fuss. So I will say this. I have told you some of the things I remember (and have thoughtfully left out the poo-wees my middle child did at your house, and your middle child helpfully announced!). Here is something I'd like you to remember.

You are my husband's best friend. Hands down. You have given him a friendship few of us are lucky to experience. Thank you.

You have given me the gift of knowing your wife. I adore her. She is my non-genetic sister. I will look after her, as long as she needs me. And after that.

You have given my children three friends in the form of your children. They are such great little mates. We will always nurture that.

Most of all, please remember that no one could have fought harder than you. Your strength, optimism and incredible sense of humour has inspired more people than I could count. None of us will ever be ready to say goodbye. So I won't.

Love you, mate. More than space xxxxx